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Latest Posts by alianora-of-toure-on-marsh - Page 4
In these trying times, as we debate whether or not certain individuals need a punch, I think we should look less to Captain America, and more to Squirrel Girl. For Squirrel Girl actively advocates for, and regularly succeeds at, non-violent resolution…
…but also teaches us that, failing that, you kick the guy’s butt to the friggin’ moon.
Squirrel Girl sez: There is no situation that a judicious application of wholly deserved violence will not solve if the aggressor is not willing to compromise.
Eat nuts and kick butts, folks.
The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #04
Story by Ryan North Art by Erica Henderson Colors by Rico Renzi
Why aren’t you reading The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl?
Another one in the Cocktail Dresses 2017 revision series!
2 more to go!!
The researchers used high-speed photography and an instrument called a Rheometer to analyze frog saliva under prey-capturing conditions. The scientists think frog tongues could one day help engineers design reversible soft adhesives that could work at high speeds.
Read more about it here.
I want a story about a king whose son is prophesied to kill him so the king is like “whatever what am I supposed to do, kill my own kid wtf is wrong with you” so he just raises him as normal, doesn’t even tell him about the prophecy, and instead of some convoluted twist of events that leads to the king’s murder the son grows up and when the king is very old and dying and in excruciating pain the kid is just like alright I'mma put him out of his misery.
Game idea: You play as a humble peasant who must fight off waves of adventurers who feel entitled to just waltz into your house and loot whatever they please.
Speaking of pretty flowers, may I present to you the “Eighteen Scholars”, the flower of my heart-a variation of Camellia japonica L. Its uniqueness lies in the layers and layers of petals-one flower can hold as much as 130 petals.
Named “Eighteen Scholars” in Chinese because at the most, one bush can have up to eighteen of these pretty darlings :3
How to pronounce Celtic words and names
Step 1: Read the word. Step 2: Wrong.
Despite being a bladder-shattering 23.5 ounces, cans of AriZona iced tea have never wavered from the 99-cent price point introduced shortly after the drink debuted in 1992. It’s even printed on the label as a way of warding off sugar-water price gouging by retailers.
The fact that AriZona has been able to resist inflation for nearly a quarter-century is impressive. The fact that the cans usually wind up being cheaper than smaller soft drinks is also impressive, until you begin to realize how strange it is that a vat of iced tea and its accompanying ingredients somehow manages to be less expensive than plain water.
In a recent interview with Thrillist, AriZona chief marketing officer and co-owner Spencer Vultaggio shed some light on this convenience store mystery.
Unlike water titans Coke (which distributes Dasani), Evian, or Fiji, AriZona has virtually no advertising dollars invested in their teas. “We feel like it’s more important to spend money on something that our customer really cares about, instead of buying billboards or putting our cans in the hands of some celebrity for a few minutes,” Vultaggio said.
Even with a frugal approach to ads, AriZona still has to deal with rising production costs. To help resist increasing prices to compensate, the company has pursued alternative manufacturing methods, using 40 percent less aluminum in cans and having enough factories dotting the country to make transportation more efficient. Bottled water, in contrast, is sometimes sourced from abroad, making for exorbitant shipping costs.
In the end, it’s not the iced tea that’s more economical than the water; it’s that the container it comes in is simply cheaper to produce and transport. And while AriZona isn’t above charging a premium for fancier drinks—like a tea brewed with oak chips that sells for twice the price—their branding depends heavily on those familiar rows of 99-cent cans and the loyal consumers who keep reaching for them.
He also helped convince Abraham Lincoln to let African Americans fight for their own freedom.
Source
The long history of First Nations people isn’t one that can be found in books. Instead, it is a rich documentation detailed throughout time — a collective enterprise carried on by tradition and culture.
Oral tradition has often been discounted as just stories — but science is proving that the facts behind those stories certainly shouldn’t be discounted.
Last week, a study published in the journal Nature Communications linked the genomes of 25 Indigenous people who lived 1,000 to 6,000 years ago with 25 descendants in the Lax Kw'alaams and Metlakatla First Nation in British Columbia.
The ancient DNA was taken from archeological sites in the Prince Rupert area of B.C. that contain human remains. The researchers concluded that the genomes of the descendants were altered as a result of European colonization, making them more resistant to western viruses.
However, the other outcome of the DNA study was confirmation that the Metlakatla First Nation has been in the region for thousands of years — something the Metlakatla have long asserted through oral tradition.
The researchers also found that roughly 175 years ago, the population of Coast Tsimshian in the region declined by as much as 57 per cent. This coincides with colonization and the spread of diseases such as smallpox, the accounts of which have also been passed down in First Nations oral tradition.
“Science is starting to be used to basically corroborate what we’ve been saying all along,” said Barbara Petzelt, an archaeologist with the Metlakatla First Nation, one of the researchers in the study
Continue Reading.
*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~
“Your tapestries are sofine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddessAthena.”
Arachne tosses herhead, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”
The merchant blanchesand looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with histime. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”
He pays her for herwares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman withgrey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarledhands curled over a cane.
Arachne is not stupid,but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyesand declares, “Athena should thank me,since my talents earn her so much praise.”
She pushes past her andkeeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into thecrowd.
They will tell tales ofher hubris. They will all be true.
~
The next day she bumpsinto the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.
“Know your place,mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, andArachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do issay her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.
She will not lie.
“I do,” she sayscoolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”
She is not honest as avirtue, but as a vice.
Athena challengers herto a weaving contest. She accepts.
~
Gods are not so hard tofind, if you know where to look.
“It’s a volcano,” thebaker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for takingmoney from someone who’s clearly not all there.
She grabs her bag ofsweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”
“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well thefirst dozen times.
“Thank you for yourhelp,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.
She walks. She growshungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. Thesun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’stall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens tooverwhelm her.
But Arachne does notbelieve in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those taleswill be true.
She ties a scarf aroundher braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only toher thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma andbegins her slow ascent.
~
The muscles in her legsand arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once whitedress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her bodyand drips down her back.
“What are you doing?”
Arachne turns her headand bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easilyto the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. Sheswallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”
The creature tilts hishead to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might besmiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”
“Is it true?” sherepeats, refusing to flinch.
“Yes,” he says, lookingat her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”
“There’s some sweetbread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”
His hands are bigenough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Insteadhe gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comicallysmall in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He lickshis fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying thesecond time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”
“I’m the weaverArachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”
~
They tell tales ofHephaestus’s ugliness.
They are not true.
He’s got a broad,angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legsonly to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.
“Had your look, girl?”he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into acoughing fit.
“Yes,” she says, anddoesn’t turn away, keeps looking.
His lips quirk up atthe corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive insidethe volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal thatshe can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,girl. What do you want?”
She slides her pack offher shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I havewoven her a cloak.”
He raises an eyebrowand doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal handscould be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”
They will tell tales ofher hubris.
“Yes.”
They will all be true.
With a gust of wind theoppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its placestands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of herhusband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales ofAphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.
“Let’s see it then,”she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.
It unrolls beautifully.It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and upalong the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage andher worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experiencedartist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.
Her lips part insurprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestussays, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t takeoffense.
The goddess smiles andArachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphroditeis the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” thegoddess says, “you have my attention.”
Arachne swallows.Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”
Their faces somber.Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena willlose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”
“I know,” she says,“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”
There are no tales oftheir friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because whywouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, bothhappily married.
Gods hate being made tofeel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they sayAphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne winsthe weaving contest.
“Clever girl,” Hephaestussays, smiling.
Aphrodite stares at herreflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestusleft if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrenchupon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger ather. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weaveme a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”
A gown as exquisite asthe goddess of beauty. An impossible task.
They will tell tales ofher hubris.
“I accept.”
They will all be true.
~
The contest goes asexpected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.
The goddess’s face goesred in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept thedeath blow coming for her.
The blow comes.
Death does not.
~
She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’svolcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has nohope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –
She doesn’t believe indefeat, in loss.
It was a terribly longjourney on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now shehas eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps inbetween crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver ofsunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.
Athena’s cruel joke ofallowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellowcolor – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.
~
It takes seven yearsfor her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all thattime, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’sa large insect, but not that large.
She arrives just as thesun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched theearth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.
Arachne doesn’t returnto her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurriesand runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking forand scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.
“Huh,” Brontes looksonto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”
She cautiously skittersdown his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is thata piece of a honey bun?”
She looks up at him,waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand–
His face slowly fills witha cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?” Shejumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in hismassive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”
She jumps down, landingin front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s runningafter her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost toosmall for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares forseveral moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himselfout of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”
There’s that samebreeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,that you had to yell?”
Arachne sees the exactmoment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, madeentirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brushdown the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”
She warms at that, thatAphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in sevenyears.
They’ve told tales ofher hubris.
They are all true.
Brontes points at theweb, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto thegoddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”she says, “but I know someone who can.”
Then they are in frontof a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “GoddessAphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”
“Thanatos,” shereturns, “I need to see Persephone.”
The man’s face stayscool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuckin this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course availablefor her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Pleasecome with me.”
~
Arachne weaves a dressfor Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.
“I can take yousomewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”
Arachne pauses at herloom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would youlike me to leave?” she asks instead.
Aphrodite scoffs, “Ofcourse not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing thespider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for thegoddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for amoment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”
She looks up at thegoddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where elsewould I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”
To declare your companyequal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.
They tell tales of herhubris.
“An excellent point,”Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.
They are all true.
gods and monsters series part iii
In Case You Missed It...
…my free eBook dropped like a baked potato this morning!
http://www.scriptmedicblog.com/free-ebook
GO FORTH AND DOWNLOADICATE!
xoxo, Aunt Scripty
I wanna get to the point in my life where I can pay every single one of my bills on auto pay and I won’t even have to bat an eye on my bank account balance.
Abbey and I fused our love for lettering and Harry Potter to create these new posters for the four Hogwarts houses. Just in time for Harry Potter’s & JK Rowling’s birthday, too! © Risa Rodil x Abbey Sy
What house are you sorted in? ❤️ 💙 💛 💚
picking RPG clothes based on maxing stats instead of whether they match or not
I did a very quick, sketchy comic because I was extremely inspired by this post. (Credit to @pinkdiamondprince for the original post.)
The entire analogy was just fantastic and so, so accurate, and I wanted to make a comic for it, even if it’s very sketchy because my attention span is nil.
I made a printable coloring calendar! It’s got all twelve months plus blanks in case you like writing out all the months and whatnots yourself. It’s a mere $3 on Etsy and Gumroad; Etsy splits it up into three files, but it’s all the same thing. It prints on standard letter-sized paper and you can stick it into your discbound planner or three-ring binder, whatever floats your boat. Reblogs are appreciated, feel free to post pics and tag me if you color your own 💙
BBC Sherlock is the best adaption of Sherlock Holmes because it succeeded in making me despise the character of Sherlock Holmes for the rest of my life (and eternity) and made me never want to touch the stories ever again and that’s what Arthur Conan Doyle would have truly wanted.